Flannel
by Coraxes
Summary: Three times Bonnie wears Damon's shirts. [Set in s6, s7, and slightly in the future. Bamon.]


So this was the first Bamon fic I ever posted; I think it was written right after the s6 finale? But I hope you guys enjoy it.

* * *

Damon smiled against Bonnie's shoulder, his nose still pressed into her collarbone. The good thing about vampire strength—he didn't _have_ to put her down. He could keep his arms full of judge-y, amazing, _alive_ witch for as long as she would stay there. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her, even the smell of her. In 1994, it had been omnipresent; clean soap, coconut shampoo, the fizziness of magic in her blood like carbonation.

And—Damon inhaled again—there was something else, too. He drew back a bit so he could actually talk; his face hurt from grinning. "Bon-Bon," he said, squeezing her sides, "are you wearing my shirt?"

The question was rhetorical. He recognized the grey flannel, now that he could smell himself on it. He'd worn it often enough in the prison world, though he wasn't sure what had happened to the original. He'd probably thrown it out after getting it covered in bloodstains; that happened to most of his clothes after a while.

Bonnie leaned back, too, and Damon adjusted his grip on her back to keep her from falling. It would probably be less awkward to just set her down. She was rubbing up against a few interesting places, which Damon was trying to ignore. But the last thing he wanted to do was let go. "I didn't get the chance to do laundry," she said, shrugging. "Too busy running for my life."

"Mmhmm," Damon said, tilting his head. He'd forgotten little details of her face: how bright her eyes were, how adorable she looked when she was pretending to be annoyed. But there were bags under her eyes, too, lines that hadn't been there before. What had she gone through while he wasn't there? What had she faced by herself? He wanted to do something to make up for leaving her there with that psycho, but he'd never been great at cheering people up. "Just admit it, Bon. You missed me."

Bonnie's smile got smaller, softer. Damon looked at that smile and couldn't help but wonder how it would feel right now to close the distance between them, to have that one last reassurance that Bonnie was back to him after everything—

He jerked his gaze away, back to her eyes, and took an unsteady breath. Her next words didn't help at all.

"Yeah," Bonnie said. "I did."

* * *

"Damon," Ric said in an undertone, looking at Bonnie where she sat on the couch, "is that your shirt?"

Damon looked at the witch over the top of his drink. "Guess so," he said, trying to sound like this was news to him. The truth was, Bonnie had been stealing his shirts since she'd come back from the prison world; he'd noticed since the first time she did it. But she never asked him about it, and Damon didn't bring it up.

If he brought it up, she might stop. And for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely ( _Elena_ , he's waiting for Elena), Damon liked that she stole his shirts. He had enough flannel to go around, and they looked adorable on her—like she was drowning, but in a nice way. The red she'd stolen today contrasted brightly against her skin.

Not that Damon had been paying attention or anything. Bonnie was hot; he was into girls; he couldn't help noticing.

Alaric frowned. "Are you two…"

"Nah," Damon said, too quickly, leaning one side against the wall. "They just look better on her."

The look Alaric gave him was a little _too_ knowing.

* * *

The fabric of his t-shirt stuck to his skin. Damon plucked at it as he walked down the stairs, grimacing, and tried to push his hair back into some semblance of order.

"There you are," Caroline said, exasperated as always. The day Caroline was anything but annoyed or angry with him, the world would probably end. She was pacing the living room, car keys in her hand. "Where have you been? We've been waiting for ages."

 _We_ meant her, Stefan, and Elena. Ever since they'd broken the curse that kept Elena asleep, things had been…awkward. They'd all moved on with their lives over the last few years, and trying to fit her back—the girl who they'd all revolved around, once—was like trying to shove an extra piece into a puzzle.

Caroline's solution was to all go out and celebrate. Damon hadn't gotten a vote on that one.

"She's coming," Damon said, deliberately casual, rolling his shoulders. His arms felt a bit sore; even vampire strength had its limits. "I think she lost her phone or something."

Caroline sighed, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by the pounding of feet on the stairs. "I'm ready!" Bonnie announced, jerking at the hem of her shirt. Damon grinned at her; she scowled back. "Let's go."

"Oh my God," Caroline said under her breath, looking between Bonnie and Damon.

"Wait," Elena said, following Caroline's gaze. "Damon, weren't you wearing that shirt when you guys went upstairs?"


End file.
